Wimbledon
by Miss Sammi Potter
Summary: Alfred Jones is a Wimbledon qualifier. He has no rank, stats, or even incredible talent. He's not the only one shocked when Arthur Kirkland, ranked 4th in the world, takes an interest in him. But as they say, love means nothing in tennis...right?
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone. See, I'm really just a crazy tennis fan...so it was only a matter of time before this happened. I hope you like it, though! It's going to be a fun ride, I promise! I don't normally write Hetalia. So if something is wrong or off, please let me know! That being said... here we go!

I don't own anything!

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><p>Alfred Jones sighed, dropping his racket bag down onto the ground next to one of the cushy armchairs in the hotel lobby. Dropping himself into it, he allowed himself to relax for just a moment. He had done it. He had taken the chance, flown to England, and participated in the qualifying rounds for Wimbledon. And made it.<p>

The decision to come to England had been last minute. He had been planning on trying to make it over from the States at some point in his career, but never expected it to be so soon. But then the sign ups for the qualifiers had opened, and he couldn't contain himself. But he had done it. He didn't even care if he was eliminated in the first round... he was still participating in Wimbledon.

Sure there had been a few local tournaments. But nothing big, nothing exciting...nothing _Wimbledon_. He probably would have been satisfied just knowing he had stepped foot onto one of the courts for the qualifying matches. Nothing could get him down. Wimbledon was _the_ tennis tournament. What a way to turn pro. Closing his eyes, he imagined his name and stats on the ATP tennis rankings page, the words 'Turned pro in 2011' written out by his picture.

Grinning, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a smiley face to his parents and cousin. All of them would know exactly what it meant.

Dropping his phone onto his chest, waiting to see who would be the first to respond, he look in his surroundings. He had of course looked at the lobby before, but only in passing. A quick glance around when checking in, and making sure nothing was in his way as he walked either from the elevators towards the doors, or from the doors to the elevators. The room was kind of grand, a comfortable sitting area to the side of the front desk, and the desk it's self appeared to be made of some kind of marble. He didn't know if it were real or fake, but had a feeling it was as real as the grand piano off to the other side of the desk.

His phone vibrated against his chest and he picked it up to see his cousin Matthew had been the first to respond. '_Your name is all over the internet'. _Alfred grinned. Probably not _all_ over the internet, but if you went to the right websites, which he was sure Matthew was, he was probably listed on a few different pages as a Wimbledon hopeful. As he hit the reply button, someone had dropped their bags down across from him. Glancing up at the noise Alfred discovered that another tennis player was there. It didn't really surprise him, this hotel was a good distance away from the courts, not too far and not too close. And it was nice.

_'Of course it is, I'm totally awesome! Coach told me I was going in too early!' _He typed out in reply to Matthew. His phone vibrated again almost instantly after his message to Matthew had sent. This time it was his mother congratulating him. He was in the middle of typing out a reply to her when he heard the person across from him speak up.

"I am here!"

Alfred looked up, and froze. Across from him, phone pressed against his ear, was Francis Bonnefoy. Currently ranked number six in the world. He looked up, as though having sensed Alfred's stare and flashed him a large grin.

"No need to sound so angry, I'm only a day early!" Francis spoke into the phone. Alfred could hear a faint mumble coming from the device, and assumed whomever it was that Francis was speaking to was not pleased with him. "Just come down here! My reservation is not until tomorrow, and the horrible woman at the desk told me that there is no room for me until then. You know as well as I that there is a pullout couch in the room. Or we could always share-"

Alfred looked away, hopeful that Francis wouldn't notice that he had been listening to his conversation or at least his amusement that he had been hung up on, and began responding to Matthew's latest reply.

"Are you here for Wimbledon?"

Alfred looked up quickly, somehow knowing Francis was speaking to him this time. Sure enough the blond Frenchman was looking right at him.

"Yeah." Alfred nodded. It was all he trusted himself to say. He didn't want to sound star struck, even though he slightly was. This was his first encounter with anyone that experienced in the pro tennis world, let alone someone that highly ranked.

"Excellent." Francis replied. "What is your rank?"

Alfred laughed nervously. "Well I don't exactly.. that is to say..."

"You are a qualifier."

It wasn't a question. Francis had understood immediately.

"Yeah." Alfred responded. "I made it into the draw though, my first time! It's going to be _awesome_!"

"Congratulations." Francis replied, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. He then stood and approached Alfred. "Francis Bonnefoy."

"Alfred Jones." Alfred grinned, taking the hand extended towards him.

"Good luck." Francis grinned, moving back to pick up his bags. "You will need it. Wimbledon is the best of competitions. I will see you around the courts in a few days time."

And he was gone. Alfred was left grinning stupidly in his seat, watching Francis' retreating back. He watched as the man threw an arm around a shorter blond that Alfred was almost certain looked like it could have been Arthur Kirkland, world number four.

But that couldn't be. Francis Bonnefoy and Arthur Kirkland had a known rivalry in the sport... one that often got out of hand. If you followed professional tennis, you knew about it. They had both been disqualified from the Australian Open and fined a decent amount of money for one of their arguments two years ago. But then the shorter blond shoved Francis' arm off of him, pressing the button for the elevator and turning to face Francis, allowing Alfred to get a good look at his face. It was _definitely_ Arthur Kirkland.

Waiting until the two were safely inside the elevator, Alfred jumped up and collected his things. He needed to tell Matt about this, and he needed his laptop.

It was far too much for his phone to handle.


	2. Chapter 2

The Hetalia tag on Tumblr stole my life for a good two hours today. Seriously, I need to find a way to keep myself away from that if I want to be even slightly productive... haha

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><p>Alfred focused on his opponent. Now was the best time to work on his serve and aim. No matter where he ended up sending the ball, his opponent always returned it. This was a benefit of playing a wall.<p>

Toss the ball, focus, swing. He swore he was making the same movement every time... So why was the ball going all over the place? This should totally be a simple game of hit the ball, wall returns the ball, and repeat. Not hit the ball, wall sends the ball flying in a random direction, and Alfred chases after the ball. It just was not supposed to work this way. He fought his way into Wimbledon! He was competing in the worlds most prestigious tennis tournament, and a wall was handing his own ass back to him.

If that wasn't a wake up call, he didn't know what was.

He had already been at it for two hours. If anything, the wall was one of the few practice partners that didn't get sick of his seemingly endless amounts of energy. Scowling as the ball sailed in a completely different direction than what he had intended it to, Alfred turned to jog after it. When he had first shown up at the courts earlier in the day there had been quite a bit of people around. But now, as it was nearing dinner time, it was starting to clear out. Lucky for Alfred, this made chasing balls much easier.

His coach was on his way over, having originally refused to come with him to England. Alfred couldn't _wait_ to meet him at the airport and rub it in his face that he had done exactly what the older man had told him he wouldn't be able to do.

"Crap!" He cried out, coming to a stop when his ball rolled onto the only court being used at the moment. "Figures. Sorry!" He called, throwing his hand over his eyes to shield the evening sun.

"It is not a problem," came a reply in a thick french accent. "You do not have very good ball control, do you, monsieur qualifier."

Alfred squinted. Seriously, did he have to lose his ball in the direction of the sunset? "...Francis?"

"But of course." Francis replied, approaching Alfred with his run away ball.

"Thanks." Alfred replied, taking the old dirty ball into his hands.

"That is quite the beat up ball." Francis spoke, eying the ball in Alfred's hand. "Why do you chase it?"

Alfred flushed slightly. This was the ball he had won his first tournament with. It had become more or less of a good luck charm. Not that he was about to tell _Francis Bonnefoy_ something as cheesy as that. He opened his mouth a little, hoping he would lead the other man into thinking he was about to respond while he quickly tried to come up with something to tell him. ...But then, what seemed like out of no where, another tennis ball came crashing into the back of Francis' head.

Alfred's eyes grew wide as Francis bent down to pick up the offending tennis ball.

"I was rather under the assumption we were having a practice game, Frog."

Francis turned to glare at the new comer, and apparently the person who had hit the ball. "Why did you do that? What if I have a bruise on my _head_? I swear, if it hurts to do my hair for the party then I..."

Alfred stood there in shock, watching as the worlds biggest tennis rivalry gave him his own private show. Part of him was a little amused, wondering how many times he was going to run into the pair. The other part of him was a little desperate to get away. He had seen on television and read articles about this pair and their arguments.

Gripping the old tennis ball tighter in his hand, Alfred decided now was a better time than ever to excuse himself from the pair. He muttered a quick farewell and ran over to his equipment bag. Throwing everything inside of it, he slung the bag over his shoulder and made his way towards the court gates. He had had enough practice for the day.

**USUKUSUK**

He wasn't sure what kind of trouble he could get himself into, if any at all, but since his coach would be arriving the next night he wanted to find out now. Once his coach was there, there would be no random night adventures. His parents would make sure of that. Damn having your fathers best friend as a tennis coach. But for right now, he was nineteen years old, in London, and about to take part in his first Grand Slam tennis event. When he lost, which he knew he would, he would have to fly home immediately.

So he traded the tennis clothing for jeans and a t-shirt, made sure his phone, wallet, and hotel room key were in his pocket and made his way to the elevators.

Pressing the button to go down, he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his feet. He didn't have the slightest idea where he was going to go. It wasn't late, but it certainly wasn't early either. At the most he would probably end up just talking a walk or something. The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside quickly realizing he wasn't alone. Arthur Kirkland was standing beside the button panel.

Alfred cast a look at the panel, a little pleased that the button for the lobby was already lit up. Now all he had to do was not make a fool of himself.

Unfortunately, he was too good at making himself out to be the fool.

"..Dude, you're totally Arthur Kirkland! That is so _cool_!"

Arthur looked a little surprised, which amused Alfred.

"And you're the guy that the Frog was talking to last night and earlier on the courts."

Alfred nodded. "Alfred Jones." he said, sticking his hand out.

"Pleasure." Arthur replied, taking Alfred's hand. "Off to the bars?"

Alfred laughed. "Not old enough."

Arthur looked him over for a moment. "You're in the United Kingdom, not America. How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

Arthur smirked. "See, you are old enough. Our drinking age is eighteen here."

Alfred didn't know what to say. He didn't even realize there might have been a different age requirement. "Oh. _Awesome_!"

The elevator doors opened with a ding and they stepped out. Alfred wasn't sure if he should say something, or just go about his own way. He was about to tell Arthur good night when the shorter man spoke up again.

"So, would you like to come with me?"


	3. Chapter 3

So, have any of you heard the song Collision of Worlds by Brad Paisley and Robbie Williams from the Cars 2 soundtrack? It's a song comparing things between the United States and United Kingdom. And it is one hell of a USUK love song. It makes me happy.

Speaking of happy, Happy Birthday to Alfred, yesterday! xD

Also, I try to update as frequently as possible. Often it'll be almost every night. Besides for these last few days, where my job has attempted to murder me with no air conditioning and long shifts. Hahaa. ...I wish I were kidding.

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><p>Following Arthur out of the hotel, Alfred found he didn't care where they ended up. This was <em>awesome<em>.

A night out in London, no parents, nagging coaches, and he was personally invited to tag along by one of the worlds best tennis players.

"So Francis called you a qualifier?"

Alfred shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. "Yeah. Got lucky, I guess." He grinned.

"Congratulations," Arthur nodded. "That's certainly something to celebrate."

"Heck yes it is!" Alfred agreed, with a loud laugh. "I totally would have gone out last night... But I was so tired."

"Understandable."

They walked down the sidewalks of London. Alfred kind of hoped they weren't going very far. The city was nice at night, but he didn't feel like getting lost in unfamiliar territory. And he had just realized he hadn't been paying attention to the first fifteen minutes of their walk. He had no idea where he was. So when Arthur stopped in front of one building, Alfred was relieved that they weren't traveling much further.

"You'll need your I.D." Arthur told him, pulling his own wallet out of his pocket.

Alfred nodded, and did the same. There was a tall man checking I.D.s at the door, and even though Arthur had told him that he was legal drinking age in England, Alfred hoped that he hadn't been playing some kind of trick on him. He had seen and heard stories of the events that happened between his companion and Francis. And Arthur was old enough to drink in the states, so for all Alfred knew he was playing some kind of joke to humiliate his Wimbledon competition. Because that's what he was, Alfred realized. He was pleased when the man at the door looked at his I.D., although taking longer than it should have as Alfred had to point out where his birth date was on the card, and allowed him inside the building.

It was a smaller club. There was a bar on one side, and a dance floor on the other. Alfred was shocked by how well the building managed to hide the music. He hadn't heard it at all until he was inside the building. And it was quite loud. The room was large, sure, but not huge. The clubs back in New York were about six times larger, and much more obvious.

Arthur led them over to the bar, where he greeted the bartender as if he were an old friend.

"Mr. Kirkland!" The man behind the bar cried out. "How are you?"

"Just fine, thanks." Arthur replied as he and Alfred took their seats. "I'll have my usual."

The man nodded and looked to Alfred. "How about you, sir?"

Alfred opened his mouth, realizing he had no idea what he wanted. He glanced at Arthur, who met his questioning look with one of curiosity.

"He'll have the same." Arthur said to the bartender after a few more moments of Alfred saying nothing.

The man nodded, and busied himself with preparing their drinks.

"Thanks for that," Alfred grinned. "Since I'm not of age back home, and I'm busy with either school or training I don't really pay attention to drinks..."

He was met with another curious gaze. "You're a student? What are you studying?"

Alfred shrugged. "This and that. Random classes. A lot of general education stuff, just to make my mom happy."

Arthur smiled a little. "I've half way finished my own degree. Online classes have made it so much easier than what it was when I first started. I expect it shouldn't take me that much longer to finish now."

"I've never really looked into online classes. Never really had to. I've always been in New York."

The bartender set their drinks down in front of them, and Alfred moved to take some money from his wallet when Arthur stopped him. "My treat, I asked you to come."

"Oh." He slid his wallet back into his pocket. "Thanks."

"They're on the house!" The bartender cried out. "Please, Mr. Kirkland. Good luck at Wimbledon."

"Thank you very much." Arthur smiled. When the man had disappeared further down the bar, he smirked at Alfred. "I told you it was no problem."

Alfred grinned. It was at that moment it really hit him _who_ he was sitting with. He was in England. With the highest ranking English tennis player. At a bar. Right before Wimbledon. Of course people were going to know who he is.

Alfred shook his head. Now was not the time to be thinking about any of that. The last thing he needed to do was start fan boying over Arthur while he was hanging out with him. …._He was hanging out with Arthur Kirkland_. -No. Now was not the time for this internal battle. He would save that for his conversation online with Matt when they got back to the hotel.

"Need anything else, Gentlemen?" The bartender asked, returning to their area.

Alfred shook all thoughts of fan boying out of his head and ordered another of whatever it was that he had just drank.

**USUKUSUK**

Alfred woke up to the sound of someone banging on the door. It was too early, and he didn't know anyone else in London anyway, so he decided he didn't care and simply rolled over in bed.

He didn't wake up until the door flew open.

"Arthur! I have come to return your extra room key – Why, _M__onsieur Qualifier_! If I had known you were up for some late night fun I would have –."

Alfred sat up straight in bed as he felt someone next to him move quickly. Opening his eyes just in time to see a pillow hit Francis in the face.

A pillow that Arthur had thrown. From right next to him. In bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Oh, hello guys. I suppose I owe you an update! ...Something very exciting happened in my life recently that involves Hetalia in sort of a non direct, and yet extremely relevant way... It totally made my entire life, and I had to come update.

So I have to say. I've been a fan of Hetalia for over a year, but I'm new to the fandom. I dunno what people are talking about, you people are awesome!

… I just sounded extremely uneducated, and I assure you that is not the case. Love you guys none the less!

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><p>The situation was interesting. Alfred was in bed with Arthur. Both of them were completely clothed still. Francis was standing in the doorway with a knowing smirk on his face.<p>

He didn't know why Francis automatically assumed what he had. Alfred was pretty sure nothing had happened. He was pretty sure he would know, and nothing felt different. Aside from the pounding headache he had.

Alfred looked from Arthur to Francis.

Arthur was glaring at the man in the door, who seemed to brush it off completely and came walking over to Arthur's side of the bed.

"_Mon cher,_ were you getting bored with our love?" Francis spoke, leaning down and muttering right above Arthur's ear.

The Brit turned a shade of red Alfred found interesting, and shoved Francis away. "Nothing of the sort happened!"

Alfred let out a sigh of relief.

Francis laughed. "The situation I have found you in begs to differ."

Arthur jumped up from the bed and literally started pushing Francis towards the door. "It's none of your business, I'll talk to you _later_."

Alfred couldn't hear his reply, just muffled voices as Arthur shut and locked the door in Francis' face.

Arthur places a hand on his hip, another on his head massaging his temple, and let out a loud sigh. Alfred bit his lip as Arthur turned back to face him.

"Well you certainly look better than I thought you would this morning."

Alfred didn't know what to say to that. So he voiced the only thing on his mind he could think of coherently. "What happened?"

"We went to that club last night. I suppose there's a reason America has a higher drinking age. You were so sloshed by the time we had gotten back I couldn't get you to tell me your room number, so I brought you back here."

"Oh." Alfred replied stupidly. "...thanks."

"It was no problem." Arthur replied, sitting back down. "I was afraid you were going to get sick or something, either last night or this morning. So I kind of watched over you. I must have fallen asleep, as well. You had so much more to drink than I did, I thought for sure you would be hung over."

He was pretty sure he could physically feel his cheeks reddening. "I do have a really bad headache."

Arthur nodded. "That's to be expected. I _did_ try to warn you last night."

Alfred nodded dumbly. "Yeah... Thanks, for all of this. You totally didn't have to."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Of course I did. I asked you to come with me, it was practically my fault."

"Nah." Alfred replied, flinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing slowly. "It wasn't. It was mine, I'm sure. Always happens. But yeah. Thanks again... I'm going to erm...go get out of your hair and stuff, now."

Arthur nodded again, a very small smile on his lips. "I'd be careful if you're going to practice today."

"'Kay. I actually have to meet my coach at the airport in a little bit... So I probably really won't.. but yeah, thanks. Bye!" Alfred said, opening the door.

"Good bye."

He shut the door with a click, and let out a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. Talk about awkward. He turned away from the door, and froze.

Francis was leaning up against the wall a little down the hall.

Alfred was suddenly nervous. '_Were you getting bored with our love'_. What did _that_ mean? He really hoped he didn't just land himself in an extremely awkward situation. Taking a deep breath he started down the hall.

Maybe Francis would say nothing to him. There was a very low chance of that, given the little he had learned about the mans personality since having been in London around him, and what he had picked up from watching games and clips from interviews in the past. Sure enough, when he was close to the man he stepped away from the man.

"Have a good night?" He grinned.

Alfred was pretty sure his face was going to be permanently red. "We went to a club." he replied, not stopping. He didn't care if it was rude, this was about the single most embarrassing morning of his life. "I got drunk. He said I wouldn't tell him where my room was."

Francis fell into step along side him. "Oh? Arthur must like you."

Alfred looked up at him. "What?"

Francis laughed. "He always just dumps _me_ somewhere. Even if he knows where my room is."

Alfred said nothing, unsure what to make of this. People kept saying things that kept rendering him speechless, at complete loss of how to respond. This really was quite the strange morning. Because it was not often that he didn't have something to say. All he knew, was that he wanted to get back to his room, take a shower... and he was going to spam Matt's facebook wall until the boy was online. Or something.

"I wonder what you did to convince him to watch over you, hmm?"

Alfred narrowed his eyes at the Frenchman. There was something about his tone. "You know something."

Francis simply grinned and pulled a newspaper out of what seemed like no where. Alfred stopped walking and took it from him. The headline stood out like none other.

**_Local Tennis Pro Arthur Kirkland Has A Night of Fun with American Tennis Hopeful_**

And to make it worse, there was a photo of them at the club. Dancing. Alfred had a drink in one hand, and the other was wrapped around Arthur's waist from behind.

Alfred groaned.


	5. Chapter 5

It's been two weeks. I apologize. I've been marathoning Doctor Who in my free time from work, and well... Yeah.

A lot of you seemed shocked about how quickly the media caught on. I'm a communications media major at university, this is my third year studying it. Believe me, something happening at night and making headlines the next day is no big deal. So, say nothing serious was going on in the area that required front page headlines, why not? It's really not all that unusual. Newspapers are a business, and interesting headlines sell. Wimbledon is actually _quite_ the big deal. And any country would want the athlete from their home to win the big event in their home country. So it's only natural Arthur would be in the public eye, and for them to know Alfred's name, even though he's simply a qualifier. Wimbledon is Wimbledon. While any win is amazing, let's just compare winning Wimbledon to winning the World Cup in football, or the Super Bowl in American football. I hope this helped clear up any questions, and if not, feel free to ask away about anything you don't understand or might be curious about, pertaining to anything. I understand not everyone reading this is the expert tennis fan/obsessive fan person that I am. Hahaha

And finally, anyone have tumblr? You can follow me at strawberryalchemy. I've been known to stick random parts of unfinished chapters up, amongst other interesting things. Be sure to drop me a line and let me know who you are though, if you're going to follow. I will follow you back.

Anyways.. on with the show!

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><p>Francis had allowed Alfred to keep the copy of the paper he had shown him in the hallway, claiming he had more copies back in his own hotel room to tease Arthur with.<p>

Alfred had taken the paper and folded it in half to hide the cover, and then moved as quickly as he could back to his room.

Inserting his hotel card key into the reader on the door, he waited until the light turned green and turned the handle, pushing the door open and shutting it quickly behind him. He set the paper down on the desk near the door, and immediately went for his laptop.

Lucky for him Matt was totally an insomniac. He was a little relieved when he pulled open his facebook page and Matt's name appeared as online. He wasted no time in sending a chat.

**Alfred: Yo, Mattie. Sleep is good for you, dude!**

**Matthew: whatever. Where the hell have you been?**

**Alfred: Oh, you know. Out.**

**Matthew: Out? All night? Literally, the whole night?**

Alfred sighed, opening up a new tab and running a google search on last nights events. It was a huge relief to him when he had to search for a minute to find something concerning specifically Arthur and himself. In the end he had actually had to go to the website for the paper that he had been given earlier. He copied the link and pasted it into the chat with Matt.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Alfred watched as the little pencil that appeared to signify Matt's typing a response appeared, then disappeared for a moment before appearing again.

**Matthew: Isn't he known for doing things like that with someone else?**

**Alfred: Arthur? Yeah, whenever he makes it into the news it's because he's out dancing with Francis. The one I told you about that he's always fighting with.**

**Matthew: Do you think they're together? Arthur and Francis? You've mentioned them a lot in the past while talking about tennis**

**Alfred: I can't tell, dude. Sometimes I swear they are, like earlier Francis asked Arthur if he was bored with their love.. but then Arthur just gets all pissed and kicks him out of the room.**

**Matthew: You're going to get mixed up in something you don't want to be**

**Alfred: Like?**

**Matthew: Arthur and Francis's personal and obviously complex relationship.**

**Alfred: Nah, I'm not interested in that! Just winning, and totally being the hero for America! I still can't believe I'm here.**

**Matthew: I can't either, no offense.**

**Alfred: You totally have to sign up for lessons now, by the way. You lost the bet.**

**Matthew: Seriously? You're actually going to make me go through with that. C'mon, Al... **

**Alfred: A bets a bet. **

**Matthew: We'll see. I'm going to sleep now. Don't get mixed up in any drama! Arthur may be known for going out and messing around with other men and whatever, but you're a new face. Media is scary. You don't know what they can do. Seriously, Al, be careful out there.**

**Alfred: I'll be totally fine, dude. Go to sleep. You're talking crazy.**

Matthew's name dimmed, and the chat box read that he was no longer online. Alfred sighed, thinking about what the other boy had to say.

Arthur Kirkland was known for being a little more on the rebellious side off the courts. It was odd, considering how much of a proper sportsman he was _on_ them. It was almost as if the man had two personalities, one which Alfred had watched many times on the television over the last few years, and another that he had read articles about...and had gotten a glimpse of first hand.

He felt strange. He had never woken up in bed with another man before. Sure, there had been the times when he and Matt were little and they had been thrown into the same bed during nap time by their mothers... but never another man that he hardly knew.

Definitely not an internationally known athlete.

He thought about what Matthew had said about Arthur and Francis, and wondered briefly how he had ended up mixed in with them. Right in between then, it seemed. Because he happened to be in the lobby at the right time the other night with Francis? Because he just happened to be in the same elevator as Arthur? That could have happened to anyone, and they didn't have to speak to him. But for some reason they had.

Perhaps that had just been Francis. Just a part of the mans personality to talk to anyone he could, or something. And maybe Matt was right, and they did have some kind of relationship. And now Arthur was talking to Alfred just to make sure he wasn't going to be some kind of competition.. or something that got in the way of them.

And everyone knew of Francis's reputation as the playboy.

But would Arthur really willingly take his 'competition' out for drinks? Maybe that was just some way of getting to know Alfred to make sure he was able to find some way to stop it.

But what would he be stopping? Francis? But Francis wasn't _doing_ anything. He had seemed amused by the newspaper article. And if he were together with Arthur, wouldn't he had been at least the least bit upset? It wasn't like he would be used to it happening. Whenever Arthur ended up in the news for something slightly ridiculous like this, Francis was the other person involved.

Alfred groaned. He would know, he was the tennis fan turned pro. He was the one who followed tennis news and individual profiles himself.

He sighed. He was starting to give himself a headache. Truth was, he was probably over thinking about everything. Or maybe not. He didn't know.

He didn't know anything about either of them outside from what they let the public see.

Sure he knew all these facts... but who were these men, really? And was it a bad thing that he wanted to find out?


End file.
